


Shine My Shoes

by Lonov



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, PWP, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonov/pseuds/Lonov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"All you gotta do is shine my shoes," Bucky had said, but he hadn't meant it. He didn't actually expect Steve to pay him back for being a good friend. But Steve was standing in front of him with that same determined look he always had, and Bucky would be stupid to try to argue over this now.</p><p>They were just shoes, anyway. What could possibly go wrong with Steve between his legs, kneeling in front of him, or bending down as he reached to get every angle of Bucky's shoes?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shine My Shoes

_Brooklyn, New York, 1938_

Bucky lived for nights like this, when he could sit beside Steve and feel the weight of him pressed against his side, and the only sound in the world was Steve’s steady breathing. These were the times Bucky could truly relax, forget about the economic depression and Steve's precarious health, and feel totally and completely safe. He used to cherish these nights and curse their rarity, but ever since Steve’s mother had died and Bucky had moved in with him, now he got to experience them whenever he wanted.

His eyes were slipping closed and he was beginning to doze on the couch when he felt Steve move from where he’d been pressed against Bucky’s side.

"What are you up to?" Bucky asked, cracking one eye open as he watched Steve rise and walk across the room to collect an old rag and a container of polish from the creaky dresser in the corner.

Without answering, Steve brought the supplies over, handing the polish to Bucky, who unscrewed the tight lid obligingly and passed it back to him.

Steve didn't answer until he was kneeling at Bucky's feet, which gave Bucky enough time to feel entirely confused. "I'm gonna shine your shoes, like you told me to."

"Aw, pal, I didn't mean you actually have to," Bucky said. "I only said that so you'd let me stay, 'cause you'd never let me help you unless I was getting somethin' out of it."

Steve bit his lip; when his teeth pulled away, the flesh was red. "Then let me do this, or I'll kick you out."

Bucky laughed. He was used to Steve's antics—his incessant need to be perceived as anything but weak or helpless—but hearing him talk like that still brought on such fondness in Bucky for his best friend. He counted his lucky stars every day for giving him a pal like Steve, who held Bucky to every word out of his mouth and never, ever cut him slack.

He barely even remembered saying that to Steve, because he hadn't been serious and he'd thought they both knew it. "All you gotta do is shine my shoes," Bucky had told him, but he hadn't meant it. He didn't actually expect Steve to pay him back for being a good friend. But Steve was standing in front of him with that same determined look he always had, and Bucky would be stupid to try to argue over this now.

Steve kept Bucky in line, that was for sure.

"You wanna do it, go ahead," Bucky conceded, stretching out his legs. "Hey, they could use a good shine."

Steve looked grateful, which was the ridiculous part; as if by letting Steve shine his shoes, Bucky was allowing his some dignity. As if Bucky was doing a great chore staying with Steve after his mother died, instead of just being there to support him as a friend.

"Here, bend your knees," Steve said, carefully guiding Bucky's legs up at a ninety-degree angle so he had a full view of the front of the shoes. This also helped to put him much closer to Bucky, who felt a sudden flash of arousal as he acknowledged the position Steve was in on the floor, in front of him and on his knees, sitting in-between Bucky's slightly parted legs.

And this was interesting, because Bucky had thought about Steve plenty of times in ways that might not be considered platonic—how his eyes changed color when he was angry like the sea did during a storm, or how beautifully his eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks, or the way his artist's fingers were too elegant for the bruises that always peppered his knuckles, and sometimes Bucky wanted to kiss them away.

But never before had it crossed his mind that Steve might be thinking along the same lines.

Here, kneeling in front of Bucky with a slight blush over the tops of his cheeks, scrubbing adamantly at his frayed leather shoes, Bucky realized it was a real possibility.

"Th-that's good, Steve," Bucky said, clearing his throat when the words came out too roughly. "You don't want you to hurt yourself. Come on up, now."

Steve met his eyes, his own a deep, dark blue. "The hell am I gonna hurt myself on down here?"

Bucky had no idea; all he knew was that there was a rising amount of arousal electrifying his body, and Steve needed to get off the floor before Bucky did something stupid.

Steve did not get off the floor. Instead he spread Bucky's legs so he could reach the back of his shoes, and then he rose off the floor, turned around, and bent over so he could continue polishing.

It was probably not the most convenient way he could have positioned himself in order to clean the shoes, but Bucky was not complaining. He'd glanced at Steve's ass enough, forcing his eyes away and mentally chiding himself each time, that to have it directly in front of him and ever so close was a shock to his system.

He couldn't help himself: his mouth dropped open, eyes wide as he stared at the gentle curves of Steve's ass. And then, when he drew his gaze away for long enough to realize that Steve had stopped polishing his shoes and was looking back at him coyly, Bucky's mouth opened even further, because Steve was doing this on _purpose_.

It was ridiculous, because people always underestimated Steve, and Bucky knew that. People thought that his thin, delicate frame meant he was innocent and shy, like a girl. They thought he couldn't accomplish much, as if his physical health problems somehow mottled his mind, too.

Bucky had never thought of himself as someone who would underestimate Steve, but that, he realized, was exactly what he'd been doing.

Of course Steve would have noticed the way Bucky couldn't keep his eyes off him; he'd probably waited until the perfect moment to pounce, when Bucky's guard was down and Steve knew he could get an accurate response from him, and none of the repressed emotions Bucky's been dealing with so much lately.

Steve had always been good at making plans. He'd probably been thinking about this moment for days.

That thought alone was enough to make Bucky worry he might actually come in his pants.

"Steve," Bucky said, voice rough and gravelly.

"Mm?" Steve hummed. He turned around and kneeled again, his hands finding their way back to Bucky's shoes. He gave up all pretense of polishing them, preferring to stroke his hands up Bucky's ankles and shins, skating over the light hair there until they met the resistance of fabric, and then retreating down again.

"Shit," Bucky hissed, leaning back and savoring the feeling of Steve's hands on him. They travelled up and down his calves a few times before going higher up Bucky's legs. Elegant fingers caressed his knees and thighs until they finally settled just below his crotch, rubbing slow, maddening circles that drove sparks of sensation through Bucky's whole body.

He kept trying to catch Steve's eyes, but much the way Steve did everything, he was far too committed to completing his task to notice. He refused tear his gaze away from the effect his hands were having on Bucky's tented pants.

"Steve," Bucky said again, "look at me."

Before he could even look up Bucky was leaning forward to kiss him, pressing his lips against Steve's in the same familiar way they did everything, as though they'd been preparing for this for years.

"Is it—is this—" Steve stuttered, and for the first time all night he seemed nervous.

"It's amazing," Bucky said, unconsciously lifting his hips against Steve. "Jesus, Steve. It's great."

"Don't—"

"You really gonna tell me not to use the Lord's name when your hand's an inch away from my whanger?"

Steve huffed out a laugh. Rather than responding with words, he slid his hand over that extra space to rub at Bucky's crotch.

"Oh, man," Bucky sighed, falling back against the sofa. "That's—yeah."

Buoyed by the positive response, Steve's hand went to Bucky's zipper. It only hovered for a moment before he apparently found the nerve to tug it down. He pulled the clothing over Bucky's hips delicately, as though Bucky were the fragile one, and stared at the newly exposed flesh in awe.

When Bucky got an eyeful of Steve's face an inch away from his cock, he moaned. Steve's lips were such a pretty pink, and beautifully plump, and Bucky wanted to make them red and swollen.

His hips thrust toward Steve, trying to get his cock closer to his mouth, but Bucky forced them down. He couldn’t rush Steve. Bucky had been waiting for this for so long, but Steve didn't have the experience he did; the worst thing Bucky could do for their friendship would be to pressure him into it, and their friendship, more than anything else in the world, was what mattered to Bucky.

He didn't have to worry about that. Apparently Steve was tired of waiting, too.

That little red tongue came out of his mouth to link a long stripe down Bucky's cock, lathering the top with saliva so he could take it into his hand and start jerking without too much friction. Steve's fingers wrapped around Bucky's cock and pulled slowly, achingly, while his tongue licked up the underside and then the top again, stopping to focus on the head so he could slide his tongue into the slit.

Bucky was pretty sure he'd died and gone to heaven. But that was the only thing he was sure about; he certainly didn't know how long he'd been moaning for, and panting, though he suddenly realized that he was doing both. He laced one hand into the flaxen hair in front of him, and Steve hummed appreciatively.

Steve moved his hand down to the base of his cock and took the rest of Bucky into his mouth, engulfing him in a warm, wet heat, and Bucky cried out at the sensations.

He'd have to be careful about that: they couldn't have the neighbors knowing what was going on in the apartment. Before he could shout again, Bucky shoved his hand over his mouth. Steve glanced up and met Bucky's eyes for long enough that Bucky could tell Steve was amused.

Then Bucky couldn't tell anything anymore, because he was so close to the edge. Steve took him down far enough that the head of Bucky's cock hit the back of his throat, and that was all he needed. Biting hard on his fist, Bucky came into Steve's mouth, hips jerking wildly as he pumped down Steve's throat.

As soon as he was done Steve backed off, spitting into the old rag he'd used with the shoe polish. Bucky stared at him, bleary-eyed, as Steve threw the rag on the floor.

"You," Bucky said, brain too fuzzy from his orgasm too form a proper sentence.

Steve just smirked. "Finished," he admitted, looking down at his own pants, where there was a wet spot forming.

Well, Bucky decided, if nothing else ever came of this, at least he had jerk off material for the rest of his life.

Except that as he looked into Steve's eyes and both of them broke into smiles, Bucky was sure something would come of it. He wasn't sure what, exactly; he supposed it was always possible to be secret lovers. The idea was exciting, at least, though he'd love to take Steve out the way he did with the women he went with. Perhaps enough people knew they were close friends that there wouldn't be too many questions if they went out together, as long as they didn’t stand too close to each other and Bucky could keep his eyes off Steve’s ass.

"Steve," Bucky said, patting the couch next to him, "come here."

Steve collapsed next to him on the sofa, head burrowing in Bucky's shirt.

Bucky grinned. "That was new."

Steve shrugged.

"It's a little more than what I would expect from a pal."

Steve shrugged again, but he smiled into Bucky's shoulder.

"You know you don't gotta do that if I stay here. I should've said that before, but I didn't think of it. If you _want_ to..."

"I want to," Steve said, and this time he did raise his head from where it had been tucked against Bucky. "I would've thrown you out if I thought you expected it."

Bucky barked a laugh, satisfied as ever with Steve's openness.

A moment of content quietness passed. Bucky was on the verge of falling asleep again when Steve let out a low wheeze, barely recognizable to anyone who didn't know his regular breathing patterns. Bucky's eyes snapped open.

"You breathing okay?" He asked, rushing to get off the couch. "Want some water? Should I call the doc? Are you feeling all right?"

Steve grinned. "I'm fine, Buck. Water would be great. Thanks."

Bucky got him water in the biggest cup he could find and brought it out, eagerly handing it to Steve and watching him chug it down.

"Better?"

Steve laughed. "I'm _fine_ , Bucky, don't worry about me. It wasn't... I was worried it would be hard or something. But it was kind of fun."

"You're good at it," Bucky admitted, smiling rakishly at Steve before he leaned over the capture his lips.

Steve looked pleased. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," Bucky said, stretching out against the couch. Steve burrowed against his side again. "So anytime you feel like doing that again, feel free."

"Or you could do it to me," Steve suggested.

Happiness swelled in Bucky's chest, because Steve was right. They could spend their lives exploring each other's bodies. They had all the time in the world, they had this little house for all the privacy they needed, and they had each other.

He stroked a hand through Steve's hair until they both fell asleep, tangled together in Steve's tiny apartment.


End file.
